Peggy
by WillieGarvin
Summary: OC story. A young woman meets Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin. Hearing their story affects her profoundly. First of what I hope will be a series of stories about Peggy.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Obviously, I don't own Modesty or Willie. It was Peter O'Donnell's stated intention that no one pick up the pen and continue to write their stories after his passing and I believe that should be honored. I'm not writing so much to continue their story, but rather to run off with a new character in the cool universe Mr. O'Donnell created. Modesty and Willie are as accurate to canon (using the strip canon, rather than the novel canon) as I can make them. Sammy Wan is also accurate, but I gave him a personality and backstory that never made it into canon. Peggy is all mine, though.

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Peggy McManus assumed that she had been hired as "eye candy," and she was okay with that. She knew that she was pretty, but she knew it in the same way that a tall man recognizes his height, as a description. If she thought about it much at all, she just thought she was lucky to have good genes. She had very blond hair coming a bit below her shoulders, a good smile and bright blue eyes. She had a sexy, fit body and dressed as well as her limited budget could afford. She didn't work too much on her looks, except her fitness, of course. She worked very hard at that, but she had always been athletic and exercise wasn't the torture for her that it was for some people.

Regardless of how she had gotten the receptionist job at Wan Security Network, she was happy to have it. Not only was the job market terrible and so many of her friends still waiting tables, but WSN was an exciting, growing company. She thought, 'it's a first step.' Certainly the reception area was impressive. On a high floor of the Time Warner Center, in New York's Columbus Circle, the space looked out over Central Park, which could be seen through the glass walls of the conference rooms behind her. Although her back was to the view, she knew it was spectacular.

There was a bing as an elevator arrived on the floor. Peggy looked up and watched the couple approach.

Peggy was immediately struck by the woman. She was stunning; a bit older than Peggy, maybe late twenties. She was tallish, with a light tan, dark blue eyes and jet black hair worn up in a bun. She was dressed in a forest green Givenchy dress that might have cost six months of Peggy's salary and she moved with the smooth athletic grace of a dancer. Her make-up was understated and her jewelry tasteful and obviously expensive. She was laughing at something the man had said.

The man was maybe in his mid-thirties, a few inches over six feet, big and powerfully built with a deep brown tan, tousled blond hair and blue eyes. He was too rugged to be handsome, but was certainly attractive. His face reminded her of a young Michael Caine. He was wearing a conservative blue business suit and a red tie. Whatever story he was telling, he was enjoying it as much as his companion and showed strong white teeth with his laughter. As they approached, Peggy heard him say with gravely voice and a pronounced cockney accent, "'Onest to God, Princess, the only thing I could think of was to say, 'but, where's the wallet?'" causing the woman to laugh again. He had an ease, self confidence, and good humor that Peggy felt wash over her.

Peggy smiled at them as the woman approached and said, with an English accent, "Good morning, is Mr. Wan in?"

Actually, Mr. Samuel Wan was in a meeting in the conference room behind her, clearly visible from the reception area. Knowing this, Peggy said, "I'm very sorry, Ma'am. Mr. Wan is in a meeting at the moment. Did you have an appointment?"

"No, no appointment, but perhaps you could tell him that Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin are here," said Modesty Blaise.

"I'm afraid I can't interrupt him, but let me see how long his meeting will last. One moment, please." She picked up her phone and punched a few buttons. "Josie, do you know how long Mr. Wan's meeting is scheduled to last?...Oh, ok…no, it's just that some people have arrived without an appointment and I wanted to let them know how long he would be…a Ms. Blaise and a Mr. Garvin…Josie…Josie?" She tapped the phone switch, murmuring, "That's weird..." She began to redial Josie's number when Josie moved down the corridor on the side of the reception area toward the conference room.

Josie was moving as quickly as possible without actually running. She tapped quietly on the glass door of the conference room, but did not wait to be called in. She went directly to Mr. Wan and whispered in his ear. He instantly looked up and grinned with pleasure when he saw Ms. Blaise and Mr. Garvin. He said a few words to the men he had been meeting with as he was standing and moving to the door.

Mr. Wan was half Chinese, born and bred in New York's Chinatown. He was in his mid-thirties, six feet tall and very athletic. The rumor was that he was a master martial artist and Peggy believed it. He was always immaculately dressed. Today he wore a blue suit, gleaming white shirt and paisley tie. His shoes were perfectly shined and his cufflinks sparkled. He was the founder and President of WSN. He ran the company with old world, almost European, formality, but was well respected and liked by the employees. In the three weeks that she had worked for WSN she had never seen him smile, although he had invariably been pleasant and polite to her.

He walked quickly out to his new guests grinning like a little boy. He approached Modesty Blaise first, and taking her hand in both of his said, "Mam'selle." Peggy watched with fascination. Mr. Wan always had huge presence, as if he owned the world. But greeting Modesty Blaise today it seemed that he was merely borrowing it from her for a while. She smiled and, putting her hand on his arm, leaned forward to kiss his cheek "Hi, Sammy," said Ms. Blaise, "Sorry to drop in unannounced."

"Any time you drop in, Mam'selle, you are very welcome."

Mr. Wan released her hand and turned to Willie Garvin. He did not bother to even extend a hand to shake. He merely embraced Garvin in a huge hug, still grinning. Mr. Wan said, "Willie"

"'Ey, Sammy, 'ow's tricks?"

"Getting by, Willie, getting by. Please, Mam'selle, Willie, let's talk in my office." He led them out of the reception area.

Peggy was still trying to process what she had just seen when Jack Tilson's assistant, Ann, came to the desk. "Peggy, Mr. Tilson would like to talk to you a minute, please. I'll cover the desk."

"Thanks, Ann," said Peggy.

Jack Tilson was Mr. Wan's right hand man. He was African-American, in his early sixties, with graying hair and a significant belly. He handled the back office work for WSN and his office was a couple of doors away from Mr. Wan's office.

"Mr. Tilson, Ann said you wanted to talk to me?"

Tilson said, "Hey, Peggy. First off, you're not in trouble. Nobody told you, so exhale."

"Thank you."

"OK, so, please recognize these people from now on. They are special to us. When they show up here again, please keep that in mind. If they want to see Mr. Wan or me, just let us know. Actually, that's not quite right, don't let us know, just do whatever they ask whenever they ask no matter what."

"Yes, Mr. Tilson, I think I understood that already. I will do that from now on."

"Huh? Why did you understand that already?"

"I saw the way Mr. Wan greeted the woman. The Queen of England would not have gotten that reception from him. He was fond of the man, but the woman .. the woman,…was very, very special to him."

"May I ask you how you noticed that?

"Well," she said, thinking hard, "I guess it was his expression and body language. I heard him say a normal greeting, albeit in French, but his tone of voice, his expression, his demeanor, his body language…this was a very special person. I've sat at that desk now for weeks and seen him greet a dozen important people, but it was never like that. Not even close to that. And, for all the respect he showed her, he was clearly delighted to see them both."

"That's right. You are quite perceptive to have recognized what you did." He sat quietly for a few seconds, just watching her. The seconds stretched.

"Will that be all, Mr. Tilson?", she finally asked.

For the rest of his life, Jack Tilson would wonder what had led him to do what he did next, to take this risk. After all, this was the very moment when it all started. Why did he do it? Instinct? Hunch? Or did he see something he just couldn't name? Whatever motivated him, whatever triggered it, he and many, many other people in the coming decades would be very thankful that he did it.

"Peggy, please close the door and sit down. I have a story I want to tell you."

Once she had done so, he continued, "Other than Mr. Wan and me, you will be the only person in WSN who knows this, so please keep it to yourself. So far as I know, every word of this story is true.

"Twenty-something years ago there was one of those ugly wars in Eastern Europe. The kind with refugees, villages destroyed, ethnic cleansing, mass rape, that kind of thing. Ugly, bloody, brutal, and protracted. Anyway, in all that killing and chaos was a small child, a little girl. She was all alone. Family dead or just lost, who knows?" He shrugged. "The little girl survived. She stole and found food, begged sometimes, worked sometimes, fought when she had to, and she survived. She was barefoot and in rags, even in the cold, and she survived. She kept on the move, between refugee camps, never allowing herself to settle for very long. Eventually, after a few years, she found an old man."

Peggy said, "To take care of her?"

"Oh, no, no" he said. "You don't understand. The old man had been a professor and knew everything, except how to survive. _She_ took care of _him_. She made sure he was fed and warm and safe. He began to teach her, but first he gave her something that no one had ever given her before. He gave her a name."

Peggy said, "What?! She didn't have a name? How could she not have a name?" Peggy was stunned.

"Who was there to give her a name? She had been all alone."

Suddenly, Peggy felt like she was going to cry. A barefoot girl with no name. _No name!_ My God. She had never ever conceived of being that alone and was a little nauseous at the thought. And to be a child, a girl child, that alone through all that horror. Oh, my God.

"He named her Modesty." Peggy gasped loudly and, involuntarily, her head snapped towards the door leading to the reception area. The woman Mr. Wan had greeted with such tremendous respect. The beautiful, laughing, stylish woman was the little barefoot girl. 'Holy Crap!', she thought, 'Holy Crap!'. She turned her head back to Tilson with an almost comical expression of amazement on her face. Without realizing it, she was leaning forward in her seat.

"Oh, my God…how old?", Peggy asked in a small, dazed voice.

"Who knows?"

"Right," said Peggy, "if she didn't have a name she certainly didn't have a birthday."

Tilson continued, "Best guess, probably around eight. He taught her to read and write…in five or six languages." Peggy made a quiet noise like a whistle. "She gave herself her last name. Blaise."

"B-L-A-Z-E?", asked Peggy.

"No, B-L-A-I-S-E"

"King Arthur," said Peggy softly.

"What?", asked Tilson.

"King Arthur. His magician was Merlin and Merlin's tutor was Blaise. From the _Knights of the Round Table_ stories."

Tilson stared at Peggy silently and expressionlessly for several seconds, then said, "I don't know, but it makes sense. Where did you learn that?"

"I guess I read it somewhere," said Peggy, with a shrug.

"Hunh. Anyway, Modesty Blaise and the old man kept walking. Always on the move. They were together for years and walked from Europe through the Middle East and all the way across North Africa. Eventually the old man died and she ended up alone again in Tangier. She got a job spinning a roulette wheel in a small casino owned by a local French mobster. She was, oh, about sixteen, I guess.

"A gang war started and the local mobster was killed. His gang was falling apart. But suddenly they found a leader. The sixteen year old girl took control of the Frenchman's gang. Modesty Blaise. Other men, other gangs, laughed at them for following a girl, ….but they didn't laugh for long. It took months, but eventually there was one mob left in Tangier, hers.

"She expanded. Morocco. North Africa. The Mediterranean. Then globally. Her outfit was known as the Network. It handled a variety of things." Peggy was breathing quickly with short, shallow breaths. Tilson continued, "Smuggling, art and jewelry theft, insurance fraud, currency manipulation, industrial espionage, sale of state or military secrets. Her jobs were carefully chosen, planned and controlled and the Network never hurt innocent people. A score of legitimate enterprises. A bank. A hotel. The two things she wouldn't touch were drugs or human trafficking - the sex slave rackets. She loathed those and, given the slightest excuse, or sometimes with no excuse at all, she would smash those operations without mercy."

"Given her background, I'm not surprised," said Peggy.

"I agree. Her leadership and management were brilliant and imaginative. The Network was an enormous success. And neither she, nor any other member of the Network was ever charged with a crime from its operations. Not one. In underworld circles, the Network developed a reputation. It was respected by all … and feared by many. Her lieutenants were quiet, serious, hard men, proud of their positions and proud of her. She did more than earn their respect; she earned their loyalty, and there wasn't one of them who would not have given his life for her. Every one of them called her …"

Peggy's eyes flew wide. "Mam'selle," she breathed.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Oh, my God…Oh, my God, 'Mam'selle'," Peggy said it and listened to the sound. "It only means 'Miss', but the way he said it…I don't know, I've never heard such a simple title carry such deep meaning. And if they all used it that way, it was special to all the Network people… Wow. …I'm just…. Please keep going." She was aware that he was still watching her closely, without expression, and some part of her mind wondered why.

"Sammy Wan had been a recruit to a Triad human trafficking operation from here in New York. Young women abducted for the brothels. He was young and stupid. When he realized what he was into, he rebelled. He refused an order to abduct a young girl in Marseille and you don't refuse orders in the Triad. He tried to run, but they caught him and almost, but not quite, beat him to death. They were getting ready to finish the job when Modesty Blaise arrived with a handful of Network heavies. It was soon after she had consolidated her hold on the crime in Morocco, very early in the Network days. They crushed the operation and, unwittingly, saved Sammy's life. She learned what he had done to earn his punishment and brought him to the hospital she ran for Network people, outside Tangier. When he had recovered sufficiently, she offered him a job. In time, he became one of her top men."

"A hospital? She ran a hospital?"

"Yes, sometimes her men were hurt on a job. She wanted to make sure they were well treated." He noticed Peggy's slight frown and her eyes go a little out of focus as she stared at nothing for several seconds. She was obviously thinking, and thinking hard.

When she came back, she had the look of someone who had solved a puzzle. "Mr. Tilson, she couldn't have so many men hurt on a consistent basis to run a full time hospital. Not without making regular headlines," Peggy was smiling a tiny smile, obviously heading somewhere. "What did she do with her hospital when it wasn't full of her men?"

"It served the local community. It was a charity hospital. That was a good cover for its real purpose."

Peggy started to laugh softly and shake her head. "Good cover? No, it wasn't, Mr. Tilson. I'm sorry, but you've got it backwards. Its real purpose was as a charity hospital. Treating her men was her excuse...maybe her justification."

Surprised, but fascinated, he said, "Why would you say that, Peggy?"

"Why, I'm just putting together everything you've told me, Mr. Tilson." She raised a finger, "At eight years old she took responsibility for the care and feeding of a helpless old man." She held up a second finger. "Her activities, as you've described them, although illegal, had one other thing in common. They were all victimless crimes." She raised a third finger, "She never hurt any innocent people." Peggy held up a fourth finger. "She spent her spare time destroying drug dealers and sex-slavers." She raised a fifth finger, and said, "And she ran a charity hospital outside Tangier.

"Mr. Tilson, she may have been a dangerous master criminal, but she was, she is, …good... a good person. I know it sounds stupid. It's a hopelessly naïve word to use, but it's the only one that makes any sense of what you've told me." And with that, Peggy realized, more than anything, she really, really, wanted to get to know Modesty Blaise.

"I guess I never looked at it that way, Peggy," said Tilson after a while. "All things considered, I guess you're probably right."

"Were you in the Network, Mr. Tilson?"

"No, Peggy. I was what you might call a contract employee. I was hired by Sammy - I had known him before he joined them - for a couple of Network jobs. I'm strictly back-office. I knew about them, but I wasn't in that line of work.

"Anyway, all of her men called her 'Mam'selle', except one. Not too long after the Network had gone global, Modesty Blaise found Willie Garvin in the Far East. Bangkok, I think, but I'm not sure. He was a loser, an ex-con, and a very unhappy man… a sour, bitter, twisted bum with an almost unbelievable set of skills and abilities. She offered him a job and he saw it as a lifeline. He, and he alone, calls her 'Princess'."

"'Princess'," said Peggy. She thought for a few moments, her face pensive. Tilson didn't hurry her, as if interested in what she might say. "That's more than respect, although respect is certainly there. It's beyond that. It sounds like … I don't know, devotion maybe? A courtier? … No, no, no… knight. Why was Mr. Garvin special?"

"First of all, he is one of the most intelligent, skilled and capable men you will ever meet. He is also, far, far and away, the most dangerous man you will ever meet in your whole life. But that's not it. For whatever reason, interpersonal chemistry, whatever, he and Modesty Blaise had almost from the beginning the closest of relationships. It's weird. Like one mind in two bodies. To say they can finish each other's sentences is only the simplest of it. I think that they just intuitively know what the other is thinking. In the Network days they planned, fought and bled together hundreds of times. It didn't take too long for Willie to become her right arm. Second in command. And he changed with her in his life, becoming the man you just met."

Peggy said, "And no wonder. He must consider himself the luckiest man in the world….no, no, no, that's not it. He would feel lucky, yes," she mused. "But he would feel …privileged."

Tilson continued to study her, and said, "Yes, that sounds about right. But there's something else. Willie has dozens, maybe hundreds, of girlfriends, but there's none of that with Modesty Blaise. As close as they are, there's no romance, no sex, nothing like that."

Peggy said, "No, no, no. Of course not. With the "Princess'? No, no, no. It wouldn't be right. No."

Tilson continued to watch her. "Most people don't get that. You understood immediately."

"Well, Mr. Tilson, I have the benefit of your explanations. That gives me a step up on most people. But you've been using the past tense. What happened to the Network?"

"She disbanded it a few years ago at the height of its success."

"Huh? Why would she do that?" asked Peggy.

"The simplest of reasons, Peggy. She had made enough money." He saw the expression on her face and almost laughed. "Like most of us, she was working for the money. She got rich. Very, very rich. Gloriously rich. So did all of her top men. She decided she was done. More was just more, at that point."

Peggy said, "Humh…well…that takes more than self-discipline, that takes…self-awareness." Her respect for Modesty Blaise climbed another notch, if that were at all possible. To her surprise, she found that she was in awe. She'd never been in awe of anyone before and the feeling was odd. It seemed to make her a little light headed.

"She shut the Network down and retired to London," Tilson continued. "Willie too. He has a pub on the Thames about twenty miles outside London. I'm told, though, that they travel more than they are home."

"She's keeping up the peripatetic ways of her youth," said Peggy.

"I guess." said Tilson, "So, anyway, Peggy, that's the story I wanted you to hear. Now you know why Mam'selle Blaise and Willie are special to Mr. Wan."

"Wow…Mr. Tilson, I think it will take me a while to process what you've told me…. I hope they're still here. I'd very much like to see them again now that I know their histories."

Tilson chuckled. "I'm sure you do."

Peggy started to stand up, but changed her mind, sat back down, and ran a hand over her face. She let out a long, slow breath and said, "Mr. Tilson, I … I understand why you haven't told others their story, Mr. Wan's story, and I don't know what I did to deserve this, I really don't, …but I want you to know that I will do everything I can to _earn_ the trust you have just shown me."

"Thank you, Peggy."

She paused, and finally said, "Mr. Tilson, are you a betting man?"

"Sometimes."

"How much do you want to bet that the hospital outside of Tangier is still running? That she's keeping it open, even after the Network has shut down?"

He stared at her for long moments, his face unreadable, and said, "No bet." She smiled.

Now she stood up and began to open the door. She had it open a crack when she turned back with a peculiar expression on her face. "Hundreds of girlfriends?"

Now he really smiled. "Well, I never actually counted."

She grinned wickedly, looking extraordinarily attractive, and said, "Hunh". She walked away.

Tilson smiled slightly at that for a moment, but then his face quickly became somber again. He sat staring out the window for three or four minutes then he picked up the phone. "Phil, it's me. Hire a new receptionist for uptown." He listened, then spoke again, "Never mind about that, I'll take care of it….Yes, as soon as you can…OK. Bye….Oh, and Phil…make sure she's pretty."

Peggy walked back out to the reception desk. She said, "Ann, one more minute, please," as she grabbed her handbag from behind the desk. In the ladies' room she brushed her hair, applied fresh lipstick, and popped a breath mint. She made sure her blouse was tucked in and her skirt smoothed. She considered opening another button on her blouse, but decided against it. Then she walked back to reception and resumed her place at the desk.

And waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Almost sixteen hours after Peggy sat back down at the reception desk, she lay next to Willie Garvin in her small bed, one leg thrown over his. Her head was propped up on her hand and she was idly playing with the hair on his flat, hard belly. She was smiling and realized she was more than just happy. She was absolutely delighted.

They had walked across the Park in the lovely spring evening to the East Side. She had taken him to dinner at her favorite neighborhood restaurant, a French bistro that had good food and a fine selection of wines. He charmed the owners in French, first the elderly wife and then the grouchy cook of a husband from the kitchen, but he was always been careful to include her in the conversation despite her lack of French. By the time they finished dinner and were leaving, the owners were making a fuss over Willie and her as if he had been a favorite nephew come to visit from far away.

She had told him her life story at dinner. She was born and raised in Queens. Her father worked for the Post Office, her mother in a supermarket. She had one brother, younger, who, when he wasn't riding his motocross bike, worked moving furniture. She was the first in her family to go to college, having only recently earned her degree from Pace. She had worked during school as a waitress, and had borrowed heavily for the tuition. The job with WSN was the first she'd had in years that didn't involve telling people the day's specials. She was subletting an apartment from a traveling friend for a few months while she looked for a place of her own.

She'd asked Willie for his life story in return and was inwardly amused when he told her, "Oh, I've 'ad a pretty boring life, Peggy. Little of this and that. I 'ave a pub outside of London called the Treadmill. It's a nice little place on the Thames. All pretty quiet really."

From the restaurant, she took him to a nearby jazz club, where they sat sipping beer and listening to a dozen or so musicians – some terrific and some barely adequate. She recognized a trend with Willie when they ended up in a conversation with the musician at the next table. As the man sat down after playing a set, Willie commented to him on the structure of the musical piece that the man had performed. That led to a long, erudite conversation about musical structure in general and improvisational jazz in particular. Again, Willie was gracious in including her in the conversation, although that resulted in both men giving her short tutorials in music theory a couple of times. It turned out that the man and Willie had a mutual friend in London who played jazz trumpet, and by the time she and Willie left the club there had been an exchange of contact information and a promise of a jazz evening in London the next time the other man traveled there. Willie seemed to collect friends with breathtaking ease.

He walked her home to her apartment and she invited him in.

He said, with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, "For a nightcap?"

"Actually," Peggy replied with a broad smile, "I was kind of hoping for sex."

He laughed and said, "Well, I would certainly 'ate to disappoint you."

And the sex was fantastic. He was unbelievably strong, but gentle as a kitten. He was giving, but insistent. He took his time and teased her for what seemed like ages - to the most spectacular of conclusions.

"Do you have a favorite girl in New York, Willie?" He tensed ever so slightly. She laughed and said, "Oh, don't get all nervous on me. I wasn't applying for the position. That would be presumptuous after one date. I was just curious."

"No, Peg. No favorite girl in New York."

"Hmmm," she said, as she made little circles in his hair. "Interesting….I've had a really nice time tonight. I'm glad you agreed to go out with me." She giggled, "Especially after the way I threw myself at you this morning."

"You what?"

"I threw myself at you. Oh, come on, it was so obvious. I know Mam'selle Blaise noticed it. The only thing I could have done more would have been to strip naked at the reception desk and tuck my ankles behind my ears," she said, laughing.

He chuckled a little then said, with humor in his voice, "You can tuck your ankles be'ind your ears?"

"Well," she giggled again, "I am pretty flexible."

"'Cause that gives me an idea…"

His cell phone began to ring. He moved for it instantly, as if he recognized the ring. Peggy caught a glimpse of Mam'selle Blaise's face on the screen, and she got out of bed and went into the kitchen to give Willie privacy. She wasn't consciously listening, in fact, she was trying very hard not to listen, when she heard him break the connection.

Coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water for each of them, she saw him begin dressing. The smiling, affable, happy man had left with the call. His vibe was entirely different and very serious. "Sorry, Peg," he said with his gravelly voice. "That was the Princess. Sammy's got some trouble and she wants me to meet them downtown."

She handed him the water and he nodded his thanks. "Downtown?" she asked.

"Yeah, Sammy's Chinatown office," he said, and drained the water glass in one long swallow, saying "Thanks.". He bent to pull on his socks.

"Okay," she said. She grabbed a pair of panties and reached for a clean tee shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting dressed, Willie. I've been to that facility a couple of times. I don't doubt that you could ask directions in Chinatown at 2, no, almost 3, in the morning and probably do so in Mandarin or Cantonese or whatever, but I'll bet I can save you about ten minutes if I just take you there. And trust me, you won't find it without directions. Anyway, you said it's Sammy's trouble. I work for Mr. Wan, so it's my trouble too."

Willie hesitated, "Peg, this kind of trouble, it may not be what you'd expect. It could be bad trouble."

"Willie, it's okay. I know. I know what you did before the Treadmill. I know about the Network."

"You do?" he asked, truly startled.

"Yes, Mr. Tilson told me this morning. I don't know why he did that, but whatever. I can be discreet, Willie, and I won't do anything stupid. I promise."

Frowning his puzzlement, he said, "Jack Tilson told you about the Network? Humh." He shrugged. "Okay, Peg. Lead the way,"

Fully dressed now, Willie back in his suit and Peggy in jeans, tee shirt and light jacket, with her hair tucked under a Mets baseball cap, they left her apartment and hailed a cab downtown. Willie was quiet and Peggy found herself trying to match his demeanor. She was acting calm, but she was nervous and excited to be part of this – to see Willie, and maybe Mam'selle Blaise, in this role - but with a little worm of doubt in her belly. She was concerned that Mr. Wan would be angry with her for "butting in", but she assured herself that if she wasn't welcome, she'd just leave and go back home. She gave the directions to the cabbie and settled back.

"Do you know what the trouble's about, Willie?"

"No, not yet. We'll find out when we get there."

"Are you worried?"

"Not much use in that, is there, Peg? I don't even know what to worry about, do I? Anyway, I don't believe in worrying. You start burning yourself up worrying about something, you 'ave less juice when you can actually do something about it. I try to switch off until I can do something 'elpful."

"Well, that makes sense….Must be hard to do in practice, though."

"Yeah, it is," he said with a small smile. "Luckily, I've learned a few tricks over the years."

They settled into a companionable silence and watched the lights sparkle on the East River. She reached out and held his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: All heroes need a secret base, so here we go.

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Traffic was almost non-existent at that hour and they made it to Chinatown quickly. Alighting from the cab, Peggy gestured up a small street, empty of pedestrians at this hour. After thirty paces or so, she turned them into an alley between two buildings. About halfway down the alley was an unmarked steel door without a door handle. Willie had noted several surveillance cameras in the alley, and realized, with approval, that they were situated exactly where he himself would have put them. Sammy, of course.

"Here we are," said Peggy. Besides the door was a buzzer, which she ignored, and a camera operated by a single button. She looked into the camera and pushed the button. A couple of seconds later, the steel door popped ajar. "Facial recognition," she explained. Inside the door was a vestibule with another locked door, this one made of thick glass in a heavy steel frame. Peggy put her hand on a handprint scanner. There was a buzz from inside, like a doorbell.

Peggy said, surprised, "That's weird. Last time I was here this scanner opened the door for me."

Willie said, "It's because I'm 'ere. If you were alone it would 'ave opened."

"What?"

"Think about it, Peg. If I was 'olding a gun on you right now, we could walk right in. This way, someone 'as to come and look at us through the glass before opening the door."

"But how does the scanner now I'm not alone?"

Willie pointed down. "The floor is a scale. It's registering the weight of more than one person."

She stared at the floor for several seconds, then looked to Willie. With amazement in her voice, she asked, "How do you know that?"

He laughed and said, "'Oo do you think taught Sammy that trick, Luv?"

Sammy came out towards the door and registered obvious surprise at Peggy's presence. He opened the door for them and before he could speak Peggy said, a little nervously, "Mr. Wan, I was with Willie when he got Mam'selle Blaise's call. I thought it might be helpful if I brought him down here, but I don't want to intrude. If you would like me to leave, I will do so immediately."

A look passed between Sammy and Willie that she couldn't read. Then Sammy said, "Thank you, Peggy, you did the right thing. No need to leave. Come along." He led them into WSN's large facility. The Columbus Circle office was for show with clients and other outsiders. Here was where all the work took place. The building was a converted old warehouse. It held a huge state of the art computer facility, offices, conference rooms, break out rooms, and machine and electronic workshops with all manner of tools and equipment. Sammy led them to an open area holding a conference table and some AV equipment.

Modesty Blaise sat at the head of the conference table. As Willie had changed with the call, so had she changed. She sat unsmiling and gave off an aura of calm purpose. Mr. Tilson was already there, looking slightly disheveled. Sammy took a seat to Mam'selle Blaise's left. There was zero doubt as to who was in charge. The three men, all impressive in their own right, were looking to her for leadership. Peggy busied herself on the periphery, making a large pot of coffee.

"Evening, Willie love," said Mam'selle Blaise.

"Evenin', Princess. What's up?" he said as he took one of her hands in his and touched her knuckles to his cheek. 'An unusual, but very intimate, greeting,' thought Peggy. Willie took a seat to her right.

"Sammy?" she nodded to him.

Sammy began, "Willie, you know what we do here. We take bad guys and hire them to become good guys. The security systems we design and sell are so good because they are designed by the very men who would otherwise be trying to get past them. Some of the most skilled safe-crackers and burglars are with us now. Just about all of them have been in prison at one time or another. One of our guys, Martin Holder, was contacted today by an old cellmate, Pete Sullivan.

"Seems Sullivan has grabbed Holder's three year old daughter, Mary. He wants the security codes to the alarm systems for a dozen or so of our clients as ransom to return the child in one piece."

"Sammy," said Willie, "why would a kidnapper be open like that? To get away with it, you'd think 'e'd want to stay anonymous."

"Well, this is the reason, Willie," said Sammy while pushing some buttons on the computer. On the wall-mounted screen appeared a photo of a man in his mid-thirties. He had dark hair and dark eyes set in a lean, hard, handsome face. Even in this, clearly a mug shot, he had a bit of a superior smirk, as if he might curse out the photographer at any moment. Sammy continued, looking at the computer in front of him. "They call him Pretty Pete Sullivan. He went on quite a rampage in Oklahoma a couple of years ago, soon after he finished serving time with Holder. He robbed a bank and shot a guard, who survived. During the ensuing manhunt, he did a home invasion. Killed two children and their parents; the other two kids escaped to a neighbor's house. He shot his way clear of the police, killing an officer in the process. Then he disappeared. The authorities seem to think he is in Mexico, but he's not. He's here in New York and he's got Holder's daughter, Mary. He wanted Holder to know it was him - to know that he's murdered children before and would do it again."

A glance at Mam'selle Blaise and Willie literally took Peggy's breath away; she had never seen anything like it. She had been horrified at what this Sullivan had done, of course. Anyone would be. But whereas before, Willie had a serious vibe about him, now he exuded a cold, crushing, menace. Mam'selle too, and no less powerfully. Her eyes looked like obsidian, and his like chips of arctic ice. Willie's brown face was a little ugly in its hardness. Willie said, in a quiet harsh voice, "And 'e's proud of it. What a charmer. I'd like to meet 'im one day." 'Jesus,' thought Peggy, 'if I were Pete Sullivan right now, I'd feel like someone just walked over my grave.'

Sammy continued, "Holder is to call a number at seven PM tonight, on the dot, then he and his wife both are to follow the instructions they'll be given for an exchange."

Peggy was putting a pot of coffee on the table, when Mam'selle Blaise said, "So there we are, Willie love. Sammy, it's your call how to handle this. Holder came to you for help, and he trusts you to do the right thing to get his daughter back. We're short staffed, with just the three of us, - sorry, Jack, I know you're not an operations man –" Jack nodded his acceptance, and Mam'selle Blaise continued, "but we've done more with less."

"Mam'selle, I'd like to help if I could," said Peggy, putting down the coffee cups.

Modesty looked momentarily surprised, but glanced at Willie, who said, "She's strong and fit, Princess." 'Eeeee,' thought Peggy. 'I know how he knows that.'

"And," Willie continued, "she has superb instincts."

"Very well, Peggy, pull up a chair."

Peggy wanted to jump as high into the air as she could, spin in a circle and shriek with glee at the top of her lungs. Instead, she said quietly as she sat, "Thank you, Mam'selle."

She noticed that Mr. Tilson, sitting opposite her was looking….smug?

Mr. Wan said, "Well, we can't give in. We can't deliver the ransom. That much is a given."

"Why?" asked Mr. Tilson. "Why is that a given? Protecting that child must be our highest priority. Everything else is just stuff. You don't have kids. It's different, Sammy."

"Jack, it's not that simple. This is longstanding Network policy. You do not give kidnappers what they want. You do not give hostage takers what they want. You do not give blackmailers what they want. To give in to these people merely encourages that tactic and your problems compound," said Mr. Wan fervently.

Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin were observant, but silent.

Mr. Tilson responded, "Sammy you're not thinking about this right." He looked to Mam'selle Blaise and Willie and said, "With all due respect," he turned back to Sammy, "this isn't the Network anymore. Our effectiveness does not derive from a reputation for toughness. This is an open, public, legitimate business. We make real, practical business decisions."

"And one of those business decisions is to lay bare our client's alarm systems? How long do you think…"

Without really meaning to, Peggy had made a sound or gesture or something that got their attention. They looked at her. "Do you have something to add, Peggy?" asked Mr. Wan, not unkindly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wan, Mr. Tilson, I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just that the question of whether to give in to kidnappers really has no application here…with all due respect."

Modesty and Willie glanced at each other.

"Please, go on," said Mr. Wan.

"Well, it's the nature of the ransom. We can't possibly give it to Sullivan. He wants the alarm codes for a list of our clients' businesses. Ok. How long would it take us to change those codes? Two hours? Three? …. not twenty-four. Sullivan has to know that. Let's say we turn over the codes, Sullivan can't let Holder and his family go free. Once they were safe, the codes would be changed immediately. The best case, the absolute best case, is that he holds the family until the robberies take place. The worst case…well, the worst case is really pretty bad."

Modesty turned to Willie and said, "Willie love, you didn't mention that Peggy was smart too." He smiled slightly and gave a small shrug, looking at Peggy. Peggy looked to Mam'selle Blaise and gave a tiny smile and a nod of thanks. Inside, of course, she was pumping a clenched fist in the air. She looked at Mr. Wan and Mr. Tilson. Now there was no question at all, Mr. Tilson looked smug. 'That's pretty odd,' she thought. 'I just took a position against him.'

Mam'selle Blaise said, "Sammy, is Holder a combat man?"

Sammy said, "No, Mam'selle, not even close."

"Okay, working off Peggy's theory -and I agree with her - we can't let Holder and his wife even appear to deliver the ransom. It would just give this maniac Sullivan more hostages. We'll have to contrive a way for Sullivan to accept Willie or me to deliver the ransom. At least we can handle ourselves when the time comes."

"Well, Princess, we can arrange a car accident for the 'Olders. Something where Sullivan will believe that 'Older and his wife simply can't deliver the ransom. We've done that sort of thing before. Sullivan would have to accept a substitute."

"Yes, Willie, but that's a job for more than the four of us. You'd need drivers and ambulance men, hospital cooperation – not to mention coverage for the Holders until things are resolved."

"We could call Steve Taylor," suggested Willie.

"Hummm, yes, the bank job puts it in his jurisdiction. And he'd cooperate, but would he play it the way we need him to."

"Who is Steve Taylor?" asked Mr. Wan.

"He's an old friend with the FBI. He's now the Special Agent in Charge of the New York office. I was going to have dinner with him tomorrow," glancing at her watch, "I mean tonight."

"I'm sure 'e'd play it our way, Princess. It worked out pretty well for 'im before, dinnit? And New York SAC, 'e's got nobody looking over 'is shoulder anymore. That's like number three in the Bureau. 'E can get us an army just by whistling."

"Yes, I guess he probably would play it our way. Alright, let me call him." Mam'selle Blaise picked up her phone and walked away from the table to call Steve Taylor privately.

Mr. Wan asked, "How do you and Mam'selle know Taylor?"

"Oh, the Princess met 'im out in San Diego a while ago. By a pretty rum coincidence, 'e was investigating a bloke that I developed a bit of an interest in. The three of us ended up working together on the caper. I like 'im. The Princess likes 'im. And 'e's very competent. We've worked with 'im since then, too, on another thing."

"What happened to the man you and Taylor were both looking into?" asked Peggy.

"'E's dead."

"Ah," said Peggy.

Mam'selle approached the table with the cell phone to her ear. "Sammy, help me give Steve directions here, please."

Peggy said to Sammy as he was standing, "Mr. Wan, just get him to the corner. I'll go get him from there."

Once Sammy was gone from the table, Peggy said, "Mr. Tilson, could you please show me how to adjust the scale at the door for the weight of two people?"

"Of course," he replied, hiding his surprise that she now knew about that trick. Pulling the computer to him, he entered a series of commands which raised Peggy's computer access level to match his and Sammy Wan's. Then he said, "Here, show me your phone." They put their heads together over the screen of her phone and he showed her how to recalibrate the scale remotely.

"Willie, guess Taylor's weight, please," asked Peggy.

"Eighty to ninety kilos or so," replied Willie.

"Thanks. So let's say," she paused, "Two hundred twenty pounds to be on the safe side."

Tilson nodded and they made the entries on Peggy's phone.

Modesty and Sammy returned to the table. "He'll be here shortly. He was at the office early when I reached him," said Modesty.

"Very good, Mam'selle. I'll go out to get him and bring him in," said Peggy.

She left the building and went to the street corner. She leaned on the wall and tucked her hands into her pockets, watching the street scene. There were few pedestrians at that early hour, mostly young Chinese men and women, but those that were passing by gave her odd looks.

In the quiet, she tried to come to grips with what was happening, but her mind in a whirlwind. She was just a receptionist and somehow found herself helping former master criminals trying to thwart a kidnapping by a true monster. She was about to meet the third most important FBI man. What the hell? It was crazy and thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. Even given the deadly serious nature of the situation, deep inside she had to admit to herself that it was also wicked cool, She had hoped to see the other side of Mam'selle and Willie, but this was so much more than she could ever had considered. Be careful what you hope for. And everything was happening at roller coaster speed. Things like this didn't happen in her world. She smiled to herself and thought that she now understood how Alice felt on the other side of the rabbit hole. With all the ideas and emotions swirling through her, she actually felt tingly. She took several deep breaths and tried to get a grip on herself, but it didn't set things back to normal at all.

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A/N: The scale by the door is right out of canon (although it was an elevator). The person both Steve and Willie were looking into was Uncle Happy, and, yes, he's dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometime later, she was never sure how long she stood there, a taxi pulled up and a man got out. He was tall, with the leanly muscled body of a swimmer, and was quite handsome, having wavy dark hair and brown eyes. He was wearing an open trench coat over his suit and tie.

As he dismissed the taxi, she approached him. "Special Agent Taylor?" she asked.

He smiled at her and asked in return, "Are you a friend of Modesty and Willie?

'Was she?', Peggy wondered. She hadn't know them twenty-four hours yet. 'Ah, what the hell?' "Yes," she said.

He said with a smile, "Well, then, please call me Steve." He extended his hand.

She said smiling, "I'm Peggy," as she shook his hand. "Please come with me. They're waiting for you inside."

Moments later they were in the building and Taylor was shrugging off his coat. Peggy brought him to the others and stood aside, a little interested to see the greeting between the FBI man and the former head of the Network. It was not exactly what she had expected. He said, "Hi, Honey." He and Modesty embraced and kissed each other deeply for several seconds. 'No professional tensions in this relationship,' thought Peggy.

Modesty said, separating from him, "Steve, I'm afraid that's all going to have to wait a bit. We have a bad bit of trouble here."

"Yeah, I figured as much when you hustled me over here at this hour. What's up?"

After he greeted Willie and met the others, she began to tell him the situation. He was frowning and quiet until she mentioned Sullivan. At that name he bucked like he'd gotten an electric jolt and his knuckles went white. "Son of a bitch," he murmured. She continued.

When she had finished, he said, "Wow. Ok." He was reaching for his cell phone. "We're finally going to get this bastard off the street. Where're Holder and his wife now? We can..."

"Steve," said Modesty, "We'd like you to play this our way, please." She looked at him levelly and spoke in a businesslike tone.

"I'm sure you do, Modesty, but this guy is number one on the Most …"

Sammy Wan stepped forward, and interrupted with a rasied and, "Steve, Holder came to me. He trusted me to get his daughter back. Do you have any kids? Nieces? Nephews? Anything?" When Steve nodded, he went on, "If one of them were being held by Sullivan, who would you want to come get them?"

Steve stared at him for a moment and then at Modesty and Willie for a longer moment. He slowly lowered his phone to the table and said, "Ok, Sammy, point taken. You're right. Modesty, tell me what you want me to do."

"Thank you, Steve. The most important thing right now is that on the 7PM call Martin Holder has to convince Sullivan to accept me to deliver the ransom. We considered staging a fake car accident. If both Holder and his wife are injured and in the hospital, it would be impossible for them to personally deliver the codes."

"Sure, Honey. That's easy enough to stage. And the hospital cooperation is a snap."

Sammy said, "You'll need agents at the hospital too. For Sullivan's plan to work he has to kill the Holders, even if they are in hospital beds."

"That's fine. We can do that. But, Modesty, I'm not thrilled about sending you in by yourself. Why can't you take Willie with you?"

"Willie will be following wherever they may take me and be in touch with you and your men. I need him to have the freedom of action. When the time comes and we've secured the child, he and I will engage Sullivan and his men until you can get there and save the day." Peggy was bothered by that for some reason, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Modesty continued, "Once Sullivan goes along with the substitution, we should be in a much better spot."

"Ok, now not to be a pessimist or anything, but Sullivan will take precautions against being followed. He'll certainly search you for tracking devices. There are scanners that are pretty foolproof at detecting those things. How do we ensure that Willie can stay on your tail? Without him, you are solo against the bastard and whatever helper bastards he's hired."

"We can get around that, Steve," said Willie.

Modesty looked at him with a tiny smile. "Brass band?"

He nodded, "Yup, Princess, Brass band."

"Okay," said Steve, "I have no idea what you are talking about, but if you are confident you have that covered, that's good enough for me. I've seen you two in operation before."

"Right, then," said, Modesty, "so that's the plan. Fake car accident. Seven PM call to Sullivan to accept me as the ransom bearer. Willie follows with Steve back-up. We secure the child and whistle for the FBI. OK?"

"Certainly, Mam'selle," said Mr. Wan.

"Yes, Mam'selle," said Tilson.

"Okay, Modesty," said Steve, "we'll do it your way."

"No," blurted Peggy. Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her lips, shocked at herself that she'd spoken, but neither apologizing for nor retracting the word. She was trying desperately to identify her discomfort with the scenario. Everyone looked at her with amazement, but she only had eyes for Mam'selle Blaise.

"Peggy?" asked Mam'selle, with a just hint of frost in her voice.

"Mam'selle, you say you will deliver the ransom alone with Willie as your back-up? That you will get the child? That you will both deal with the bad guys until Steve and the cavalry arrive? But that's not right. That's not what you will do. That's not the way it will happen, Mam'selle." Peggy paused, waiting for anyone to speak. When they did not, she continued, "You've taken responsibility for the child and she will be your only priority. You will get her out of danger as quickly as you can. You will….you will…" she was thinking furiously, trying to put herself in that position, and then she suddenly got it. She knew what Mam'selle would do. "Holy crap!' She gasped audibly at the knowledge and her eyes grew wider still. "Oh, my God, you will send Willie away with her and face Sullivan and his men on your own."

Mam'selle's expression slowly changed from slight annoyance to surprise to admiration, as if a child had made a chess move that impressed a grandmaster, and finally settled upon warm approval. "Peggy, we'll play it as it comes, but I won't lie to you. Yes, that is one possibility. We've been doing this a long time and have some experience," she said gently.

"There's a better way, Mam'selle," said Peggy. She had been nervous before, but now she was down-right scared. "Take me with you. Take me with you to deliver the ransom. When the time comes, I will take the child and run like the devil out of danger. That will put Willie by your side in any rumpus with Sullivan. I don't know a thing about fighting bad guys, but I can sure as hell run away."

The words tumbled out of her in a rush. "And it won't mess up the ransom delivery. If you tried to take Mr. Wan or Steve, the bad guys might not go along with it. These are big tough-looking men," she gestured towards them. "I'm just a harmless woman. Nobody would be afraid of me, and they shouldn't be. Also, I work for Mr. Wan, so the story can be that I pulled the codes as a favor to Holder, if we need to do that. It explains why I'm there.

"It would work, Mam'selle, and you wouldn't have to face Sullivan by yourself," concluded Peggy, breathlessly. Someplace deep inside, she thought, 'What the hell am I doing?!'

She was aware that the others were watching her, but she paid no attention to them. She continued to look at Mam'selle Blaise intently, who was regarding her with very dark eyes. After a little while Mam'selle turned to look at Willie and they held each other's gaze for almost half a minute.

Modesty Blaise finally turned back to look at Peggy. "Peggy, it's going to be very, very dangerous. You could be hurt. You could even be killed. But you are a smart woman and you know that. Why do you want to come with me?" she asked gently.

The question startled Peggy a little and she reached within herself for the answer. "Honestly, Mam'selle, I don't really know. I kind of can't really believe myself that I want to do it, to tell the truth. But, you are going to do it. Willie is going to do it... I guess I want to do it because … I think it's the right thing to do…it's what the good guys do...and because I can. I know I can."

"You're a very brave lady, Peg," said Willie. He had a mix of emotions on his face – surprise, approval, affection, a little pride, and some concern. Inwardly, he was also a trifle relieved, as her prediction for the way the caper would develop was accurate more often than he would like, and he hated leaving the Princess alone at those times.

She smiled a little and gave a self-deprecating shrug as she said, "No way, Willie. I'm terrified. I'm even scared talking to you about it right now. Just look at my hands. When the time comes to actually go through with it, I can't even imagine how scared I will be. But I guess," she grinned, "that will just make me run faster."

Mam'selle reached out and laid a gentle hand on Peggy's arm. She turned to Steve and said, "Okay, Steve, new plan. Peggy and I go in together, with Willie on a tight tail and you and your men on loose tail."

Steve considered disagreeing. He hated the idea of putting a civilian like Peggy in the midst, but he had to admit that she was right. It was a better plan. He was beyond impressed by the young lady who had intuited the shape of the play so accurately and felt a sudden surge of affection for her. He just said, "Okay, Modesty."

"Right then," said Modesty. "Down to work. We'll need a place to operate from."

"No issue, Mam'selle. We can use this facility. Jack and I will close it to all WSN personnel for the next couple of days. Tell everyone to work from home. Blame a gas leak or something. Jack, why don't you head uptown and keep the lights on?," said Sammy.

"Okay. Sammy. Will do. Good luck guys. Keep me informed if you can," said Jack, as he got up to leave. For some reason, Peggy thought he was looking at her with a mix of pride and affection, but she was sure that she was mistaken.

"Steve, you, Sammy and I will get with the Holders and start arranging their day. You can get your agents to stage here."

"That will work just fine, Honey."

"Princess, I 'ave some work to do today to make up some useful stuff. I think I 'ave all I'll need 'ere as far a workshops go, but I'll need some errands run. Can you leave me Peggy to fetch and carry?" asked Willie.

"Certainly, Willie love. Alright everyone. Let's get started."

"Steve, could you get one of your men to send over an XM84?" asked Willie.

"Certainly, you'll have it in a couple of hours. No problem."

The sun was up and stores were just starting to open as the meeting broke up. For her first stop, Willie send Peg to an electronics store with a two page list of items and a pocket full of cash. It took quite a while for the proprietor to assure himself that he had filled to order to a tee. Given his care, she tipped him generously. She felt that Mam'selle and Willie would approve of that use of their money.

When she returned, Willie sent her out for dim sum and tea for them both. She was eating with him and watching him create some kinds of electronic things that baffled her. He had taken off his jacket and tie and was working in shirt sleeves. She said, "Willie, how did you learn electronics?"

Concentrating on a tiny piece of wire, he said, "Oh, pretty much self taught really. But the orphanage did apprentice me out to an electronics shop for awhile when I was a kid, at least until I mucked it up."

There was a buzz of someone at the door to the building. Peggy collected the package from the FBI man and brought it in to Willie. "Here's the XM84 from the FBI. What is it, Willie?"

"It's a grenade." Her eyes went a little wide and maybe a bit of blood drained from her face. He laughed, "No worries, Peg. It's not that kind of a grenade. It's called a flash-bang. Big noise and bright light, but that's it. No shrapnel to hurt anybody."

"Oh. You're going to carry that tonight?"

"Nope."

Then he sent her out to buy boots for her and Mam'selle. He had Mam'selle's size, of course, but was very, very specific as to the shape of the boots themselves. She visited six stores before finding the boots that met the criteria. Luckily, shoe stores were plentiful in Chinatown.

Mam'selle and Steve returned with a dozen FBI agents in tow. The place began to hum with activity.

Next Willie sent her out for two cell phones and, once again, he was very specific as to the dimensions of at least one of them. By the time she returned, there was a banquet of Chinese food laid out with soft drinks and fortune cookies. She ate something, but decided not to press her luck with the cookies. What if the fortune was unlucky?

Mam'selle, Steve and the agents had staged a car crash in the Bronx, complete with an ambulance and firemen. So far as the world knew, the Holders were in Montefiore Medical Center badly injured. In fact, they were sitting in a conference room on one side of the building sipping tea and holding hands.

Willie's next instruction was to get herself a bit of sleep. She knew that she was way too keyed up to sleep, but it couldn't hurt to sit down for a little while and catch her breath.

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A/N: Peggy was right. Modesty regularly sends Willie away with the people being rescued while she holds off the bad guys. He follows her orders, but it's always hard on him. Oh, and that's a real grenade.


	5. Chapter 5

Three hours later Willie shook her awake and, once he saw that she had her eyes open, moved across the room to shake Mam'selle awake as well.

Willie said, "Ok, Peg. It's about 3:30. Another errand for you. I need you to go back to your apartment and change your clothes please. Jeans, shirt and light jacket. Don't worry about your shoes, you'll be wearing the ones you bought this morning. All black, if you can do it. Will that be a problem?"

"Willie, did you seriously just ask a woman New Yorker if she owns black clothes? Seriously?"

Modesty started to laugh. "Well, Willie love, she's got you there." Peggy smiled. She had made Modesty Blaise laugh and was, for some reason, quite absurdly pleased with that.

As she was leaving, she heard Willie say to Steve, "Can you get me a motorbike for tonight?"

She interrupted them, "I can," she said. "I'll go out to Queens and get my brother's bike."

"That'll work," said Steve. "I'll get one of my men to drive you there."

"Nope. Fastest way around the City is by subway. You ought to know that. I'll be back before you know it."

She was back in an hour and a half, dressed all in black. She drove the bike into the building through one of its large bay doors left over from its days as a warehouse. Dropping the kickstand, she stood back and took off her helmet, swinging her long blond hair loose. Willie thought, 'Ah, now there's a lovely sight. A beautiful woman riding a motorbike.' Given the looks she received from quite a few of the male agents, his impression was shared.

Modesty came in with a duffel bag for Willie. He unpacked the gear and began to change into black clothes. Peggy watched him put on a shoulder holster under his right arm, check an automatic pistol, and seat it comfortably. She also saw what looked like the hilts of twin knives on the inside left of his black windbreaker. He was certainly well armed. Then he moved to strap something to her brother's bike that would sit between his knees

Steve and another agent were busy briefing the Holders. He felt a bit like a director, except there was no director whose leading man stood to cause the death of his only child as the penalty for a poor performance. He got up to stretch his legs and get a cup of coffee. As he passed them, he heard Willie briefing Peggy and Modesty. "One - four - two - seven. OK? Twice." He got his coffee and walked past again on his way back to the Holders. Now Willie was saying, "...uneasy. Maybe butterflies. Like you're in a 'aunted 'ouse. Like that."

At seven on the dot, the call was made. Martin Holder deserved an Oscar. He portrayed an injured man in a desperate situation. Given everything that had happened to he and his wife that day, he had still managed to make alternate arrangements for the delivery of the codes. The only important thing was his daughter's safe return. Two women that he knew had agreed to make the delivery and pick up Mary. They would have all the codes Sullivan had asked for. Holder cried, swore, begged, cursed, cried some more, and promised up and down. Somewhere in all that Sullivan agreed to the substitution. He took the number to the disposable cell phone Peggy had bought and instructed that the two women were to be under the arch in Brooklyn's Grand Army Plaza at 9 PM. Once the connection was severed, a roomful of FBI agents let out a whooping cheer, which caused Holder and his wife to give a slightly wan pair of smiles.

Willie was sitting with three agents ironing out the communications procedures. Modesty and Sammy were giving last minute reassurances to the Holders. Overall, the building was a buzz of activity. Radios being checked. Weapons readied and loaded. Batteries charged. Phones lines open to the NYPD. An Assistant US Attorney was sitting in the corner with Steve. Peggy decided to have some of the (fresh) Chinese food that had been laid out for the team. That was a mistake, as no sooner had she eaten than she headed to the bathroom to vomit. She knew she was scared and just hoped it didn't show. Modesty Blaise didn't seem at all nervous. She was moving decisively through the men and women there, checking on plans, confirming procedures, reminding them of details. The respect with which those agents held her was palpable. Peggy knew she was still very much in awe of Modesty Blaise.

That's just when Mam'selle Blaise focused on Peggy. Modesty was inwardly annoyed that she hadn't thought to give Peggy a task to keep her occupied in the lead-up to the ransom drop. Sitting down next to Peggy now, Mam'selle Blaise put her hand on Peggy's knee and asked, "Alright?"

"Yes, Mam'selle. No problems." Peggy gave a somewhat forced smile.

"You good with the plan?"

"No question. Follow your lead, don't do anything stupid, get Mary Holder, and run like hell. That about sum it up?" she asked.

"Perfect, Peg. Scared?"

"No...yes. Pretty scared. Sorry."

"Don't be. You ought to be scared. I'd worry if you weren't. I'm scared too." Peggy didn't believe her. "But we have an edge that the bad guys don't have. We have Willie Garvin. I'd rather have him backing us up than all the agents here. Willie has a magic about him to make it work out ok."

"I trust him, Mam'selle. I trust you both."

"Did you know I was hanged once? Really hanged, with a noose and a gallows and the whole bit. The trap door opened and I fell almost the length of the noose rope." Peggy was staring at her wide eyed. "Willie caught me before the rope was taut. I had no idea that he was even under the gallows. That's Willie, Peg. It gives you and me a wicked edge. It's almost not fair. We're going to get Mary back and we're going to give Sullivan to Steve. And then we're going to have a ridiculously expensive dinner paid for from Steve's budget."

Peggy smiled a somewhat less forced smile and said, "Sounds like a plan, Mam'selle."

Finally, it was time.

Peggy and Modesty stood under the arch at 9:00 PM and waited. At 9:20 PM Peggy's phone rang. A gruff man's voice told her to turn around and face north. She did so. "Ok. See that street in front of you? That's Butler. You and your friend walk to Butler and make a right on Sterling. Keep walking on Sterling until I call you again."

"Yes, Sir," said Peggy.

She and Modesty did as they were directed. Sterling was a one way street and they had been directed to walk against the traffic flow. Peggy realized that if they were being followed by anyone in a car, that person would be unable to trail them down this street.

After several blocks, the phone rang again. "OK, now hail a cab."

"Right," said, Peggy. "Should I stay on the line?"

"Yes, leave the line open... Not that one, the next one." They were obviously under observation.

Peggy and Modesty let the first cab pass them and took the following one. Again, she supposed it was a precaution against a cop driving the first cab. With the voice listening, the women were silent. The voice on the phone gave them an address and, as they approached that destination the voice on the phone spoke again with a change of destination. That happened three times. 'These shenanigans to avoid being followed were pretty tiresome,' Peggy thought. Eventually, they exited the cab in a somewhat deserted area near the waterfront.

They stood waiting for several minutes, presumably until Sullivan was convinced they were not being watched, until a white van pulled up. The driver, a bald man with a missing front tooth, got out and walked around to them. He reached out his hand and said, "Give me the phone." Peggy did. He dropped it to the pavement and smashed it under the heel of his shoe.

He looked at Modesty and said, "Your cell phone," with his hand out.

She handed it to him and said, "The ransom codes are on that phone. You will not want to smash it."

He was looking somewhat confused when the passenger in the van said, "It's ok. Turn it off and give it to me. I'll be able to tell if it's sending a signal even when shut down." The van passenger was a clean cut kid in his twenties with a polo shirt and jeans. "Frisk them, please," he asked the bald man.

The man motioned for Modesty and Peggy to lean against the van in the classic frisk pose. He started with Modesty and eventually concluded she was hiding no weapons or transmitters. The bald man began to frisk Peggy next, again very thoroughly. At one point she said, "Yes, they're real," which elicited a pinch that made her wince.

Modesty Blaise allowed herself a tiny smile and thought, 'Well, Willie love, you've certainly found yourself a girl with sand this time.'

Once they decided that she too was clean, the younger man got started. He waived a scanner of some kind at each of them and at Modesty's cell phone and seemed satisfied with the results. Next, he activated a device of some kind in the van and proceeded to waive a different scanner at each of them and around the general vicinity. Again he was satisfied. "We're good," he said.

The bald man opened the back of the van and motioned towards it. Just as each woman was about to climb in, a solid black hood was placed over her head. Settling down in the van, Peggy was afraid she would panic. She had been very scared, even terrified, but the sensory deprivation, the smothering effect of breathing through the cloth, the loss of any control was leading her to the beginning of hysteria. She tried as hard as she could to stifle it. Given the hood deep breaths did not help, and a tiny moan escaped. It coincided with the roar of the van's engine starting and she hoped no one heard it.

But then a warm, gentle woman's hand reached out for hers. She held Modesty's hand and the hysteria evaporated. Somehow, she had no idea how, she felt a calm spreading through her. The van moved off with the two women.

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A/N: For Modesty's almost hanging, check out the story _The Gallows Bird_ (sorry, I spoiled it).


	6. Chapter 6

Willie Garvin watched through night vision equipped binoculars from a quarter of a mile away as the bald man groped Modesty Blaise and Peggy. His face was impassive, but he made an entry on his mental 'to-do' list.

He saw them bundled into the van with the hoods over their heads. He spun a dial on the box mounted on the motorcycle and was rewarded to see the lights on the box point to the white van. "Right, then," he thought, "'Ere we go."

Any tracker transmitters would transmit on certain frequencies of the electromagnetic spectrum, anything from radio waves to microwaves. That is what the van's passenger had been checking for, and rightly so. The old days of bulky transmitters were long gone. The modern transmitters were so tiny and powerful that they could even be ingested and keep track of the person's location until the device had worked it's way through the system. The man had known what he was about and had done a pretty thorough scan. If Modesty or Peggy had an electromagnetic transmitter of any kind, it would have been found.

Willie started the bike and began to follow the van. Once or twice he lost sight of it, but the box between his knees continued to point him in the right direction. A couple of times he had to double back and make some quick turns to find the van again, but he was always reliably guided by the box. Once he even had to boost the volume to reacquire the van, but once he did, he turned it down again. He was in constant radio communication with the FBI, which had a huge team blanketing Brooklyn for this operation.

Modesty and Peggy were not broadcasting any electromagnetic signal whatsoever. They were generating sound. The human ear can only hear a certain range of audio frequencies. Sound above the frequency of 20,000 hertz is called ultrasound. It's used for imaging fetuses, for example. It's generally harmless, except that at very high volumes it can cause burns. For that reason, Willie started to experiment with infrasound, below 20 hertz. It is very, very low sound at the other end of the frequency spectrum. (Willie found himself frustrated by the nomenclature - as the words "low-high" are applied to both frequency and volume. He was concerned with frequency.) Even at high volumes it is generally harmless, merely leaving those subjected to it with a feeling of unease and trepidation. It is silent to humans and can be cranked up as loud as you'd like. The heels of the boots that both Peggy and the Princess wore were screaming with infrasound and Willie could control the volume from his box. Even if he couldn't see his quarry, the box could hear them. It was like being blindfolded and following a brass band around town, but one that only he could hear. 'Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. Psalm 98,' thought Willie.

Modesty and Peggy had the hoods pulled off their heads and blinked in the sudden light. They were in a dimly lit warehouse of some kind with stacks of boxes disappearing into the gloom and a catwalk over their heads running the length of the building. There were eight men arrayed opposite them in a rough semi-circle, most armed, some with the guns in their hands, Sullivan front and center. One of the armed men made a sound as if he'd been punched in the stomach. A couple of the other men looked at him quizzically while the expression on his face was changing rapidly. Initially it was stunned surprise, but it was being overtaken by horror, as if the doctor had told him he had cancer and only a week to live. He stared and said, "You're Modesty Blaise." He had a vague accent.

Modesty looked at him with cold, dark eyes, and nodded once. Still staring at her, as if he were looking death in the face, he said in a shaky voice. "Sullivan, I quit. So does my brother," he said glancing at another man in the group, who nodded.

Sullivan said, "Chill out. Modesty Blaise? So what? Come on. That's yesterday's news. She's nothing anymore. And she's unarmed."

The man replied, never looking away from her, "I don't care. I quit. I was with Suleiman's mob. Garvin was tied to a chair and Suleiman was working him over with a hot knife. She came in and broke his neck. There were ten of us. Only two survived. Garvin ….Garvin…. he was beaten, tortured, half dead…I saw him kill four men in thirty seconds with knives...half dead. Oh, God," it was between a prayer and a sob by the time he was finished.

Sullivan, trying to ease the situation, said, "Oh, come on. He's not here. That was then. Relax. You're pointing a gun at her now. No problem."

The man looked down at his hand, startled, as if wondering who had put the gun there. Immediately, he dropped his hand and pointed the gun to the ground. "No, I'm not," he said to Sullivan. "No, I'm not," he said to Modesty, his voice shaky.

He started to back away from the group, his brother following. Sullivan shouted, "Stop it. Do not cross me! You cannot leave."

"Sullivan," the man said, "you are a dangerous, scary man. I am afraid of you. I really am. But she," he gestured towards Modesty Blaise, "is a goddamn force of nature. I quit."

Sullivan, flummoxed, said, "You lose your share of the take, you know." This had no effect on the retreating men. "You will never work for me again!" he screamed.

The man called back, "You are tangling with Modesty Blaise. Nobody's ever going to work for you again." And then he and his brother were lost among the stacks of boxes.

They moved down this alley and that, heading for the exit. Suddenly, out of the shadows in front of them, a giant blond man in all black materialized soundlessly, and looked at them with cold blue eyes. He was holding a knife by the blade in his right hand.

The giant said quietly, "I remember you," and pointed at the leader of the two.

They froze. The leader, the spokesman, started to tremble. He said, "I quit. I swear to God, I just quit." He was shaking and very close to losing control of his bladder.

"I 'eard," said the giant. "'ow many?"

"S...s…six left, including Sullivan" said the man, "but only five shooters. The guy with the computer's just a geek…Please…please…I quit…we quit."

"Where's the child?"

"Third office to the left, in the back.'

"Guarded?"

"No."

"'Urt?"

"No"

"Right. Now listen. Take that door. Not any other, that one. Quick. Drop the 'ardware as you leave the building, all of it. Turn left out the door. At the next corner, turn right and run like 'ell. You got that?"

"Yes, sir." He was almost blubbering in the relief that he and his brother might live through the next few moments. "Yes, Mr. Garvin, sir. Thank you, Mr. Garvin."

Willie said, "You 'ave more brains in ducking a fight than you do in your choice of employers."

"Never again, Mr. Garvin, never again. I swear."

"Get out of 'ere," Willie said with a sigh.

Sullivan said, pointing the gun at her, "Modesty Freakin' Blaise, huh? Not that impressive now. Alright, give me the codes."

Modesty sighed dramatically and said, "Sullivan, you are such a disappointment. Really. I had assumed that this would be a straightforward business transaction between two professionals. God knows, you've been in the business long enough. Why are you acting like an amateur? This can't be the first time you've done a ransom exchange." It actually was. "We both know how this is supposed to work, so get on with it. Don't insult me with this posturing."

Sullivan was confused but couldn't show that in front of his men. He found himself losing control of the situation and couldn't see an alternative. With her rep, she was probably right. There was probably a procedure that he would just have to learn. As he hesitated, Modesty said, rolling her hand impatiently, "Show me the girl is still alive, Sullivan. Then you get the codes. What are you playing at, for God's sake?"

He motioned for one of the men to go get Mary Holder. Moments later there came the sound of a child crying loudly. The sound got even louder as the man reappeared carrying the girl. The little girl had tangled brown hair, eyes red from crying and cheeks wet from tears.

Peggy had only one job on this caper. Get the child and run like hell. She looked at the crying little girl and the jumpy, nervous men with guns in their hands. 'Well, I'd better get on with it,' she thought.

She started to walk towards Mary, not fast, just a nice gentle stroll. Sullivan barked, "Stand still, bitch," and gestured with his gun.

She said, in a calm, soft voice, "Oh, hush, Mr. Sullivan."

"Hush?" said Sullivan, a little confused again. "Hush?"

She was in front of the man holding Mary and gestured for him to hand Mary to her. He hesitated and glanced at Sullivan. She said, "Come on," with another gesture, "you don't like the sound of a crying child any more than I do. It makes people cranky, and the last thing I want is a bunch of men with guns getting cranky. Come on," she smiled gently at the man.

He handed Mary to her and she started to walk back towards Modesty Blaise, talking softly and reassuringly to the little girl, stroking her back a bit. She looked at Modesty and saw approval in her gaze. In a few moments the child had calmed down enough to stop crying. Peggy used a handkerchief to wipe the girl's face and nose. "There we go," said Peggy to the men. 'Ok,' she thought, 'now for the run like hell part of the job.'

At a gesture from Sullivan, the bald man crossed the room to stand near her. She smiled sweetly at him, but he ignored her, scowling.

"Okay," Sullivan said. "You have the girl, give me the codes."

"Fine," said Mam'selle Blaise, "give me my cell phone. Your men took it from me when they picked Peggy and me up."

"Bullshit," barked Sullivan, "First thing you'll do is call someone, they'll do some direction finding thing and we'll all be in the bag. I don't trust you, lady."

"Sullivan, each of those codes is ten characters. You wanted twelve, that's one hundred and twenty random characters. Did you seriously expect me to memorize them? They are in a file on my phone. Look, stop being paranoid. We have the child. All we want to do right now is take her and get out of here." Sullivan looked at one of his men and smirked at that, which Mam'selle Blaise chose to ignore. Gesturing to the clean cut boy, she said "He can make sure it doesn't transmit anything. I won't even touch the phone. The code to unlock it is one-four-two-seven. Just unlock it and I'll show you where the file is. Copy it and we'll be gone."

Peggy had perched Mary on a low box and was quietly playing peek-a-boo with her. First Mary covered her eyes, then Peggy covered her eyes. "Peek-a-boo," said Peggy happily, but softly.

Sullivan thought for a few seconds and decided he had nothing to lose. He nodded to the man with the notebook computer, who took the cell phone from his pocket.

"Peek-a-boo," said Mary. Peggy giggled and covered her own eyes, but this time, when Mary covered her eyes, Peggy reached out and covered Mary's ears, laughing at her own silliness. Mary giggled happily.

Sullivan's man tapped on the phone screen and said, "No, it tells me the password is wrong."

Mam'selle Blaise said, with no little exasperation, "Well, try it again. One-four-two-seven. Just take your time." Modesty withstood the temptation to look at Peggy and Mary.

"Peek-a-boo," said Peggy as Mary covered her eyes and Peggy covered Mary's ears. Peggy bent to put her forehead near Mary's and closed her eyes tightly.

The man with the phone tapped a few times and all hell broke loose.

The phone in his hand exploded in a brilliant, blinding flash of white light and an ear shattering crash of sound. Peggy was deafened by the blast, but had avoided being blinded. In the days and weeks that followed, Peggy tried to put the silent images into some kind of order. They happened in flashes, but also for some reason in slow motion. The man near her, the bald man, had not been looking towards the phone and was not blinded. He reached for her. There was a glittering flash of steel from the catwalk above her and the man suddenly had the hilt of a throwing knife protruding from the side of his neck. He had only just started to fall when a gun was thrown from the catwalk. Mam'selle Blaise caught it with both hands and immediately pulled back the slide to chamber a round. She used the gun butt to club the weapon out of Sullivan's hand. Peggy had gathered Mary in her arms and was starting her sprint for safety when she saw Willie flying through the air from the catwalk to land among the cluster of men. She saw the flash of a gun being fired and then another. The last thing she glimpsed before the boxes hid the fighting from her was a melee of fists, feet, and elbows – with Mam'selle and Willie in the midst.

She sprinted down the alley of boxes, putting as much distance as she could between Mary and the fighting. At the far end of the building, she came to a door with an illuminated exit sign above it and a crash bar across it. She hit the bar and burst into the night air. Relief flooded her. The building extended on either side of her, but she could see the street at the far end of the courtyard. She heard the sound of cars and realized that her hearing was returning.

Her relief was short lived. The courtyard ended in a fifteen foot high chain link fence with no gate. Impossible to climb with Mary. "Shit," she said. She spun on her heel to head back to the door, hoping it hadn't locked behind her.

It hadn't. Pretty Pete Sullivan stood in the doorway, looking at her and Mary. He took a step into the courtyard. Peggy was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, more frightened than she had ever dreamed of being. She put Mary down by the fence and told the little girl to stay there and not move.

Peggy moved forward to put her body between Mary and Sullivan. He said, "Get out of my way, bitch." He moved as if to go around her. She didn't reply, as fear had gripped her too tightly for her to make a sound, but she moved to block his progress. The message was clear. If you want Mary, you'll have to go through me.

His right hand moved and she instinctively looked at it. That's when he hit her square in the face with a strong left jab. Her nose smashed and she found herself on her back, looking up at the walls of the building on either side. He started to move past her towards Mary, mumbling "Stupid cow."

She thought of Mary with something close to despair, but then her stunned mind slid on its track. Instead of Mary, it was a little girl with no shoes and no name. In her mind's eye, the little girl was looking at her calmly and steadily with eyes that seemed as old as the eyes of God. Suddenly and inexplicably, Peggy was no longer afraid, not even a little. She made a noise that could only be described as a growl.

Her left foot snaked out to hook his left ankle, pulling back with all her strength, and with her right heel she began to pound at the back of his left knee as hard as she could. Once, twice, a third time. She was growling the whole time and spraying blood from her ruined nose. Finally, his knee buckled and he went down on his hands and knees in the alley.

She scrambled instantly to her feet and jumped high, coming down with both knees in the center of his back. As he started to collapse to the pavement she grabbed two handfuls of his hair and put her weight on his head. He hit hard. She pulled his head back and smashed it down on the pavement again, but realized she didn't have the power for this. He was strong and struggling and would soon buck her off.

She launched herself off and somersaulted away. Again scrambling up very fast, she spun as he was trying to get to his knees. She kicked him in the face, with a shout. Her booted foot glanced off his cheekbone and left a gash. He shook his head, trying to clear it. She pulled her foot back and thought 'follow-through'; kicking him again, this time squarely on the nose, as hard as she possibly could. She kicked him as if his head was a football she was trying to send a hundred yards downfield. Her foot ended up over her head. When she looked down again, he was lying face down and blood was beginning to form a pool from his face. She stared and …stared…her breath coming quickly in harsh gasps. The terror flooded back and she began to shake.

Modesty and Willie appeared in the doorway. She held a pistol in her hand and Willie had a knife by the blade in his. They moved towards Peggy quickly. Peggy was still looking at Sullivan when Modesty got to her. Peggy hadn't even noticed Modesty gesture for Willie to check Sullivan. Willie said, "Alive. Blimey, 'e's not so pretty now." He moved past them to pick up Mary, murmuring soothing words to the little girl.

Modesty said, "Peggy, look at me… look at me… are you alright?"

Peggy looked up at Modesty and something inside her seemed to give way. The fear boiled in the adrenaline and burst. She started to cry, at first slowly, then forcefully. Modesty wrapped her in a gentle hug, and said softly, "It's okay, Peggy. It's okay." More than anything else, Peggy wanted to stop. She couldn't bear the thought of crying to Mam'selle Blaise, but there she was. She wanted to explain, to explain that it was the thought of the girl with no shoes and no name that had been in her mind. The words came out mangled; between her nose and her crying she wasn't making much sense.

Willie said, "What was that, Peg?"

Modesty said, "I think you should hold her, Willie love. I think she said something about her nose. Trade." Modesty took Mary from Willie.

Peggy said, "No, no shoes!"

Willie took her in his arms and began to lead her back to the building, "It's ok, Peg, your nose will be fine."

Peggy said, "No shoes."

Willie said, gently, "'Ey, did you know I 'ave a favorite girl in New York?"

"You're goddamn right you do!" It sounded like 'Oo goodumm rife oodoff."

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A/N: The method Willie uses to follow Modesty and Peggy is not from canon, but is exactly the kind of thing he would do. From my readings on infrasound, what I presented is accurate and might actually work. Elephants use infrasound to communicate over long distances on the African savanna. The scar on the back of Willie's hand came from Sulieman. We've never met anyone who was with Sulieman's mob, but it's a fair guess he had henchmen.


	7. Chapter 7

A few hours later she walked into the reception area of the WSN office in Columbus Circle and approached the new girl at the desk. 'Very pretty,' she thought. "Good morning," said the receptionist, "You must be Ms. McManus. I was told to expect you. Please go right in to see Mr. Wan. Oh, and congratulations," she said with a bright smile.

Peggy mumbled her thanks and headed for Mr. Wan's office. 'Congratulations?,' she wondered. 'For kicking some guy in the face?' As she passed the staff on her way to Wan's office, several others congratulated her. A couple of her friends who had called her 'Peggy' on Monday were now calling her 'Ms. McManus'. Weird.

Mr. Wan was waiting by the door as she approached. She knew he hadn't slept in two days, but he looked totally fresh and composed. As usual, he was immaculately dressed; today in a light grey suit, blue shirt and silver silk tie. His shoes gleamed. He hugged her silently and gestured for her to sit at his side table, where he took a seat next to her. Tilson joined them.

"First of all, Peggy, how do you feel?", Wan asked.

"Well, Willie fixed up my nose, packing and taping it. I'm in a little pain but I've taken Tylenol and that takes the edge off. Willie says I'll be like this for at least a week. My voice sounds funny to me; I think I sound like Donald Duck. And it's embarrassing to walk around with this stuff on my face and especially sticking out of my nose," she laughed, "but that should be my biggest worry."

"Well," said Wan, "you might want to know that you are in better shape than Sullivan. Jack and I had breakfast with Steve Taylor and Mam'selle Blaise this morning. Taylor says the doctors estimate he will need several surgeries to reconstruct the bone structure of his face. All at taxpayer expense, of course. He will be a guest of the government for the rest of his life, until Oklahoma executes him, that is. Taylor is very grateful."

"And Sullivan's men?"

"Two are dead, two escaped somehow, the rest, including Sullivan, are hospitalized and in custody. Mary is fine and back with her family, who think the world of you, of course. The guy Sullivan sent to the hospital to kill the Holders is in custody, too."

Tilson put a gentle hand on her arm, "You must have been very scared, Peggy."

"Actually, I…I was…", she looked down at the table for a few moments, embarrassed, "I was thinking about Modesty Blaise." Tilson gave a quiet bark of surprise. Wan did not.

Peggy and Sammy Wan stared at each other for a few moments of silence, and he said quietly, "So, it's like that."

"Yeah, Mr. Wan, it's like that."

Jack Tilson realized that they were sharing something that he was not a part of.

"Peggy, I …I want you to know that I think about her many times every day. What would she do or say. I understand better than almost anyone how she can …influence you. I understand completely why you were thinking about her. And, Peggy, from now on, I'm 'Sammy' and this is 'Jack', no more 'Misters'."

"Mr. Wan, thank you, but no, I can't do that. The other folks will get jealous if I get special treatment."

"Huh…. Peggy, that woman who greeted you out front is not a temp. That's the new receptionist", said Wan.

"I don't understand."

"This memo went to all WSN personnel, except you. We didn't put you on the message because we wanted you to hear about it from us." He slid a paper across the table.

 **To: All WSN Personnel**

 **From: S. Wan**

 **Re: Margaret McManus**

 **We are pleased to announce that Ms. Margaret McManus has been promoted to the position of Executive Vice President of Wan Security Network effective immediately. In her new position Ms. McManus will report directly to me and Mr. Tilson. When you see Ms. McManus, please congratulate her on this well deserved promotion.**

Peggy was stunned. In an instant she had become number three in the company. It was ridiculous, and all because of last night. "But… all I did was kick him," she said breathlessly.

"No, no, Peggy," said Tilson. "You don't understand. This message went out Monday night, while you were on your date with Willie."

"In fact," said Wan, "this decision was made right after Jack told you the story of Modesty Blaise and the Network. The first thing he did when you left his office was to have Phil hire your replacement at the desk. Only then did he come to talk to me about it."

"But, I … I don't understand."

"Peggy, you impressed the hell out of Jack while you two were talking. You are smart and incredibly perceptive. You also have an instinctive empathy that gives you insight and understanding that others miss. The hospital outside of Tangier is still running, as you very well knew. The way you understood what would happen if Mam'selle handled the ransom drop alone…I've never seen anything like it. Amazing. Jack and I think that you are just what we've been looking for," said Wan.

"And," said Tilson, smiling, "you have a huge stamp of approval from Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin and that doesn't hurt a bit. Everything that's happened since Monday morning has only reinforced the decision I made, we made."

"So that's why you looked so smug Monday night," said Peggy.

"I didn't look smug," said Tilson defensively.

"Yes, you did," Peggy and Sammy said at the same time. They all laughed.

Sammy went on, "Here's your new salary." He slid a paper across to her.

She looked at it and laughed hard, which hurt her nose, but she laughed anyway. It took her three or four seconds to realize she was the only one laughing. "This is a joke, right? Right?" The other two just looked at her with smiles. "This is crazy. You can't do this. This is…this is…ten times…more than ten times what I was making."

"Yes," said Sammy, "and I believe that you will be worth every penny." He saw no reason to mention that her salary had doubled overnight.

Her head was spinning. They sat quietly, giving her time to process what had happened in the last few minutes. She walked into the office as a receptionist and now found herself a ridiculously well paid executive in the company. It would take her parents years to earn what she would now earn in one. Her student loans would vanish. She suddenly knew how the Network men must have felt at the opportunities they had been granted by Modesty Blaise. She found herself crying, and used the back of her hands to wipe the tears away as they spilled down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and let it out, then once again.

"Mr. Wan,.."

"Sammy," he corrected.

"Sammy, Jack, thank you for this opportunity. I will not let you down," she said slowly, carefully, and with purpose.

"Don't you even want to know what we are going to ask you to do?", asked Jack with a smile.

"Sure I do, Jack. But it doesn't matter," she was staring into Sammy's eyes and Jack realized that once again they were sharing something special. "Sammy," she continued, "what would you have said to Mam'selle Blaise when she first offered you the Network job?"

"I would have said that I will not let her down, and I wouldn't have given a damn what it was she wanted me to do." He still stared at her and, without looking at Jack, said, "Jack, she's pretty determined."

He continued, "Peggy, we don't really know yet what your responsibilities are going to be. A lot will depend on you. What you can learn to do and how quickly you learn it. The one thing we absolutely have in mind, though, is another voice in our hiring process. One mistake there and we're done. Not to put pressure on you, the final decisions will be mine and mine alone every time. However, Jack thought your insights would be very valuable in that process and I agree with him."

"Ok, just let me know what you need me to do, Mm...Sammy."

"Well, after you finish dealing with the fallout from the Sullivan thing, I'm going to ask you to review the files of each of our employees, and then arrange to meet them informally. We want to know what you think. Write up whatever you want, but if you'd prefer that any report or portion of a report is to be oral, to just Jack and me, that's in your judgment. To make those decisions you'll need a familiarity with employment law, so that will be part of it too. I don't want us sued based on something you write down. As we go on, of course, you will interview each prospective new hire."

"OK." She was grinning. Everything they'd been saying sounding interesting and she loved the thought of her new role. She realized she was enjoying the hell out of this morning. She was almost giddy. From the moment Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin had walked through the door, things had been very, very different and, broken nose aside, spectacularly better.

"We think, maybe, more than that. Think about what we do. We take bad guy skills and use them to help the good guys. We have both bad guy and good guy skillsets in-house and offer the latter for sale. Our worth is in the fact that we have the best former bad guys on our side. We'll want you to develop the skills of both sides. If you want to advise a client on what locks to put on his doors, we want you not only to know locks inside and out, how to rebuild and repair them, how to describe and sell them, but, most important and what sets us apart, to know how to pick them all. Which ones are the hardest to pick and why? How long does it take to pick them? What tools do you need? How you can by-pass them entirely? The same with an alarm. Or a safe. Or whatever."

"Oh, my God, that is so cool," she said with a huge, happy laugh (which also hurt her nose). "That sounds like so much fun. I can hardly wait. Thank you both. . … But, okay, first things first. What about Sullivan and what needs to be done there?"

"We said before, we were with Taylor this morning," said Jack. "He's holding off on how to handle the announcement of the capture. He wants us to tell him what we would like. He's already agreed to keep Mam'selle Blaise and Willie out of it. I've never seen the FBI act like this, but then again, I've never been in a situation like this. We have to tell him, and soon, what _we_ are looking for. Sammy and I thought you ought to be the one to tell him how you want to handle it. You're the one who's going to be the hero. You captured Pretty Pete Sullivan. You saved the child. You get the reward."

"No," she said vehemently. "No. I don't want that. I don't want to be a hero. I don't want my name in the papers. No, no. I don't want any of that. And, guys, look at me, broken nose or not, you know I'll be in the papers. 'BLONDE TAKES DOWN KILLER'. You know that's what's coming for me. My picture will be everywhere. I'll have paparazzi. My parents will be interviewed. I'll be on TV. I'll get an offer to pose for _Playboy_. No, I don't want any part of it. No, no, no."

"There's a reward," said Jack.

"He killed the family in Oklahoma, right? Let's give it to the children who survived. Hell, I don't deserve it anyway. I just stopped one guy. Mam'selle Blaise and Willie stopped a half dozen."

"Peggy," said Jack, "It's a lot of money. You aren't rich."

"I am now, Jack," she said as she waved the paper with her salary. "Anyway, Mam'selle Blaise wouldn't take the money, so I won't either," she said with finality.

"Of course not, she's rich. Before that, she'd have taken the money."

"I'm sorry, Jack, but you're wrong, even before she was rich, ….Sammy, what would Mam'selle Blaise do with the reward money?"

"She'd give it to the kids, the victims' kids."

"Even before she was rich?" asked Peggy.

"Even before she was rich," said Sammy, after a pause.

"Thank you"

Jack said, actually baffled, "How did you know that? How did you know she wouldn't have taken the money?"

"I just knew. Sorry, Jack, but that's the best answer I can give you," she said with a small shrug.

"Okay, Peggy, you win. Call Taylor and tell him you want out of it. Tell him what you want done with the reward," said Jack, with a flip of his hand.

'We could benefit from publicity, though." she said. "Do you think I could get him to say "unnamed officer of WSN'?"

"Maybe, I don't know, but that's good thinking. See what you can work out with Taylor. If you decide to go that way, when you're done, please draft a press release from the company. Now come with us. I want to show you your office," said Sammy.

They walked out of Sammy's office and stopped about 5 feet away. She looked at the door of the empty office between Jack and Sammy. She had walked right past it on her way to Sammy's office minutes ago. On the wall of the corridor, beside the door, was the name "McMANUS". She wanted to cry again or something. She stepped in. The view of the Park was breathtaking. There was a big desk and a side table and chairs. The office was about 2/3 the size of her borrowed apartment. She touched the desk gently, looking out the window. Jack and Sammy came in behind her, quiet.

Sammy said, "After you deal with Taylor, call Phil. Tell him to get you a lease for a company car. Jack and I have Mercedes's, so why don't you think along those lines?"

"Of course," she was almost giggling, "I get a Merc too. Why wouldn't I get a Merc? A Merc." Now she really was giggling. She tried to stop. She put a hand over her mouth, but giggled away. "Sorry," she said, "I can't stop." They smiled.

When she could, she said as soberly as she could manage, "Ok, I'll call Steve Taylor and work something out."

"OK, just let us know," said Sammy as he and Jack left her office.

She closed the door to her office, jumped up in the air as high as she could, spun in a circle and shrieked with glee at the top of her lungs. Grinning, she opened the door to her office and looked at Sammy and Jack, frozen in the place in the hall, staring at her. "Sorry"

Now so much more than "eye candy," she turned to her desk and sat down to negotiate a deal with the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI's New York office.

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A/N: There we go. Peggy's set up for a bright future. Thanks to anyone who made it this far in the story. And thanks to all the authors I've been reading here lately for both the fun and the inspiration.


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